


Shot in the Dark

by NataliePhoenix



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: M/M, Torture, grantaire comforting enjolras, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NataliePhoenix/pseuds/NataliePhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has always held such admiration and love for Enjolras, and that's why it shatters him to see the revolutionary torn apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I swear that no matter what it looks like in this first chapter, it's not a death fic. This is however a torture fic, which was requested by Riddelly who simply wanted Grantaire watching Enjolras being tortured with E/R. This story starts during the final battle at their cannon death scene and goes from there. I suppose it's also worth mentioning that it's movie!verse. Also the first chapter is relatively short but the others will be much longer.  
> Point of view is Grantaire

He had to be alive, he had to be alive, he had to be alive... And what if he was? For how much longer? the thoughts echoed in my mind, forcing me to stay focused on one foot in front of another. Because I had to find Enjolras, he had to be okay, that’s all that mattered. If I concentrated on anything else, concentrated on the bullet shots pounding the air, or how my head throbbed from the recent hangover...or the bodies at my feet, my friends... if I did any of that, I wouldn’t be able to go on, I would just stop trying, stop looking--because I would end up finding the inevitable... his broken body amongst the rest. At that thought I started to run, to sprint, almost blindly, across the room full of death--the room of empty tables and chairs, one that we had spent such countless hours laughing and plotting in. And now dying. Now this was where they had all died, well almost all, if I was lucky, if he was lucky.

I couldn’t hear their screams any more--not one. The shots had died away too. And yet the situation was so dire, that I couldn’t help but think of this was more of a bad sign then a good one. If there wasn’t any more noise, no more screams, no more bullets, then there was the possibility of there being no one to create the noise, for there to just be the stiffness of death stifling the air. As I continued onwards, I forced myself to slow down, to not rush ahead of myself as I rounded the banister

Oh my god he’s still alive.

For a moment, I let my mind to just bathe in the glory of his face, so alive, so full of life. He shimmers, one in the crowed, as he has always done for me. For that one second, I allowed my shoulders to fall slightly, to relax into his gaze, my mouth parting and my eyebrows uplifting in such stunned relief. Because he is still alive. He’s breathing. And he’s right there, standing in front of me. But the release from the agonizing thoughts biting away at him was temporary. Because the soldiers that crowd the usually comfortable upstairs, reminds him of the fact that Enjolras is still breathing, that there is still a light glimmering in his eyes--however faint--isn’t going to last. Standing before him, his love was going to die.

I can’t live in a world without him, was the only thought that I was aware of as it passed through my mind. I stumbled forward, past the soldiers. No, stumbled was the wrong word, there had to be some thoughtlessness to stumble. I was shoving myself forward, one shoulder hurrying ahead before the other, as I launched myself forward. But it was like I was in slow motion, painfully slow, because I didn’t want to speed this moment up, I didn’t want to see him stop looking at me so intently. Because he was really looking at me, into me, unlike ever before. All those hours at the cafe, while he ranted and raved and did his wondrous speeches about his dreams, he had never looked into me. But here, now, this was his dream, in ashes and blood, the stench of death licking our noses with it’s dread. And he was finally looking into me. 

I crossed to him, and very numbly I noticed how none of the guards were shooting yet, just letting me teeter past. The way I was walking, I probably looked drunk. Was I drunk? I didn’t really know. It didn’t really matter, not now. I knew there was no way to save him, but I wanted, so desperately, to give Enjolras a gleam in his eyes again, instead of the empty eyes of the given up man that stood before me. Broken, he was broken; that’s what his eyes said. And it tore me apart, because that’s one of the things that always brought me to the cafe every day, to see how confident and stirring this young man was every night.

Without a word, I stood beside him, our eyes positively glued to each other. And as his fingers intertwined with mine, his other hand lifting his red coat that was clenched so firmly in his fingers, a grim smile spreading across his features, I saw it. The glimmer in his eyes, the confidence that could see a new world and the downfall of the king, it was back where it belonged. I had never been so happy to see such twinklies. 

The gunshots were deafening. The pain was even more unbearable. But the pain was wrong. It shot up my legs, causing me to tumble to the ground, collapsing in a heap with Enjolras. There should be nothing in my legs, it should be my heart or my head, this wasn’t the way to kill a full grown man. And as I fell, my vision hazing to grey and the inflaming pain, I felt Enjolras’s fingers fall from mine, slip between my grasp, before everything disappeared into a black nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear the chapters get longer after this.

I had finally regained consciousness, my mind had awoken from its usual stupor, announcing that I had been too unconscious for far too long. Such agonizing pain was what clouded my abilities. For a moment, I just sat there, frozen by the sheer anguish that coursed through the lower half of my body. Such pain seemed to be at the very edge of numbing, as though another course of misery would send my sensing abilities over the edge and into oblivion, so that everything after couldn’t be felt at all. That’s death, that’s called death, Grantaire, a small voice in the back of my mind reminded me. But death was what I was supposed to have now, since I had taken my last stand of bravery, my last stand with him.

Enjolras.

Before my mind was able to comprehend the situation, or even properly remember why I was in pain, I reached out, cracking my eyes open just enough to see how completely in the dark I was. There was only the dimmest sliver of light from a window, almost caressed into oblivion by the shadows. Thankfully, this was enough light to see the body beside me. The doubled over form was turned away from me, shoved against the opposite wall. Squinting my eyes with the very highest concentration, I managed to depict the faintest trace of red on the form. Him, it was him, it was Enjolras. Oh god, it was him. Somehow, we both seemed to be alive... unless, oh god, could he be...?

“Enjolras?” I whispered, my voice cracking in the echoing silence.“Enjolras?”

“Grantaire,” he managed to respond after a long pause, his voice somehow even fainter than my own. He was fine... no, fine was overstating it, he was injured, possibly worse than I had even managed. I just... didn’t want him to suffer like this--didn’t want him to suffer at all.

I managed to crawl towards him, one inch after another. The slick and dirty rock floor scraped against my skin, burning my flesh with such a brutal chill. I managed to get centimeters within his reach when iron clasps snagged at my ankles, biting at the already injured skin. A mere second away from his side, a mere second away from being able to turn him over to see the damage, to being able to hold his hands and promise him that we were going to be okay. I just wanted to be able to help him. It didn’t matter that I was in just as bad shape, that it seemed as though my world was being torn apart by painful that mattered was that Enjolras was in just as much trouble, and I could do nothing.

“Enjolras, I’m here,” I rasped, feeling such total helplessness. “We’re going to make it out of this.” I was lying, lying through my teeth. If my memory served me correctly, city guards had been the ones to shoot us down, to put us in this state. If we were in their hands, who knew what they would do with us--it probably would have been better if we had both died from our wounds already... died with the rest. I could still see them in my mind, their bodies strewn around the cafe that held such treasured memories--all of them, all of them were dead. The two of were the only ones left, and we were hardly much to go on. Once again I tried against my bonds, unwilling to be so close from touch.

“Grantaire...” He responded, his voice hardly more than a breath. “Why...?”

As he finished speaking, a door that had been cloaked in the darkness opened with a shuttering bang. The very brief lighting blinded my site, dispelling the blessing of my scotopic vision. In that moment, what I managed to see haunted my blinded eyes after the darkness had returned. Enjolras lay in front of me, his legs splattered with his own blood that sprung freely from a large gash in his calf. No wonder he was in such complete agony. How desperately I wanted to take that pain from him. Sure, double my own, triple it, I just wanted him to stop suffering. 

The man who had opened the door stepped inside, and quickly lit a match in the obscurity that flooded the room. Helplessly I attempted to get closer to Enjolras, to shield him from whatever madness that was to come next.


	3. Chapter 3

What they did first was surprising at the very least. A second man entered the room, dressed in all white, a smart leather bag clutched in his fingers. The man who had entered first kicked me to the side, away from Enjolras.

“Enjolras,” I murmured weakly, my hand still outstretched in his direction.

“Tend to him, they don’t want them to die yet,” The man who had kicked me spat, glancing down at me, his official's badges gleaming in the light. 

Didn’t want us to die yet...? I couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. Of course they wanted us to die, or at least Enjolras, he was the leader of this whole damn rebellion. How I hoped I was wrong about their wishes. My mind was so clouded in such a way that I could could never grow accustomed to. While the presence of alcohol danced in my mind often, that was enjoyable and interesting. This fogginess was just painful and irritating. And for once, I needed to think, needed my wits about me.

The man with the briefcase was now kneeling beside Enjolras. No, what was he doing? I couldn’t let him... hurt Enjolras. I slinked from my place, leaving a dripping pool of oozing blood behind me. Even though I couldn’t reach Enjolras, I could still get close enough to dig my fingers into the man’s white shirt, staining it was my bodily liquid and pulling him from Enjolras. They couldn’t... wouldn’t... hurt him. I wouldn’t let them.

“Get him off,” he rasped, only staggering back from my ferocious attempts. Damn, I was too weak. I had always been too weak, too weak to save him. 

The first man, who I duly identified as a decorated guard, grabbed me from behind, throwing me to the wall I was tied to. Without pause, this guard tied my hands, so tightly to the dusty piles of bricks, that I couldn’t stop touching the grimey surface behind me.

“Enjolras!” I screamed weakly, trying so desperately against my bonds.

“Hush,” The guard spat, aiming a kick at my injured leg that had already buckled under my weight. “He’s a doctor, you moron, keeping your pal Enjolras alive.”

A doctor, I thought numbly. Why the hell would they be trying to heal him? Hours passed by, and although my mind and body begged for rest, I managed to keep my eyes from closing. I wouldn’t leave Enjolras alone in this. If I closed my eyes now, they may never open, and that would leave Enjolras truly on his own. I couldn’t do that, not to him. 

Finally, the doctor stepped away from Enjolras. From my hunched position, I could barely make out his figure, just visible in the faded light. The blood had been cleaned up, and his leg was thoroughly bandaged in a white cloth. So this really was a doctor trying to keep Enjolras alive. But why?

Next the doctor turned to me, smothering my leg in a stinging clear liquid. The added pain caused me to gasp in the agony. Enjolras hadn’t done such a thing during his turn. Was he really that far gone? Or was he managing to be just that brave even while he was so weak? The doctor quickly cleaned out the two bullet wounds in my legs and wrapped white linen around the injuries. As he worked, I felt myself slowly slipping further and further into unconsciousness.

“These won’t help them get them on their feet again, but I have the feeling that’s not really a problem here,” the doctor warned the guard. “If you want them to last a week--”

“At least,” the guard cut in crisply.

“Yes, a week at least,” The doctor continued. “You’ll have to give them both about a week to heal, at the least--with fresh bandage changes, and plenty of food and water.” 

“Thank you, Doctor,” He said, leading the other to the door, the candle’s flame disappearing at the whisper of his lips. “If you would come in when those bandages need changing that would be adequate.”

Perhaps I tried to stay awake after they left, but I was so far gone I don’t even recall such a thing passing through my brain. The next few days passed in the same sort of blur. At least, I thought they were days--the only source that informed me of time passing was how little the light gleamed from the tiny window. Each hour I would live in the haze of sleep, barely waking when consciousness tried to claim me. When I did open my eyes, sometimes I was aware of a fresh wrap, or the fact that my hands had been untied and food and water had been placed within reach. From the little I could tell of Enjolras, it seemed that his condition was far worse than mine. His bandages were larger and bloodier, reaching along his calf and leg, to where eight bullet wounds bleed through. When I did manage to hold consciousness for long periods of time, Enjolras was still fast asleep. 

It wasn’t until about four days after our arrival, that the two of us managed to speak to each other. The pain was still great at that point, but I had managed to gain another strength to manage my own thoughts. And as I sat there in the darkness, I realized that this indeed was the first time I had managed to stay awake for such a long period of time. As constant as the pain still was, the injuries were getting better. 

Through all the countless hours that I did spend conscious, I always let my eyes rest on Enjolras, which burned and heightened my low spirits all at once. It was a sort of torture, watching him in such pain, my eyes always drawn to his injuries and how pale his skin shown, dripping with the tension of feverish sweat. But seeing his chest fall and rise, however panicked it may seem, it meant that he was still alive, still breathing. It was while I was watching his steady breathing, that I saw his eyes flicker open.

“Enjolras?” I whispered, my voice sounding painfully loud in the silence that had occupied my life for so many days. 

“Grantaire,” he responded, his words still so feeble. Perhaps they held more strength than before, but it was so hard to compare when I was so accustomed to his booming speeches that rose above all the other voices. “We’re alive...”

“Yes,” I murmured, trying to drag myself against the restraints.

“Grantaire...” He repeated weakly, his gaze grazing my body. “You’re hurt...why did you... stand with me?”

“I’m fine,” I replied, unwilling to answer his question. No, I wasn’t fine, we were both far from fine. “You’re worse.”

“Both alive,” He responded, his eyelids drooping. But he was fighting to keep them open, putting every effort that he could muster into staying conscious “Grantaire... why?”

Despite how threadbare his question was, how nonsensical it sat on its own, to me it was obvious what he was asking, and that’s all that mattered. It was more than just question, it was a handful of confusion marked with one word. Why are we here? Why are we injured? Why aren't we dead instead? Why did you come stand with me in what should have been our final moment? Why did you step into a lion’s ring when you could have walked away? Why?

I gave myself a long moment of hesitation, not to ponder the answer, but to question whether I should tell him. The response to such a question had always drifting through my mind, ready and waiting. But was it something I should tell him in this state, with us both bound from each other, awaiting the fate at the hands who wished us death? Exactly, a small voice hissed from the back on my mind, The two of you are probably laying in your graves. If you don’t tell him now, will he ever know?

“Love,” I responded simply, the affectionate word landing as a flame in the snow, melting a place of comfort in the bitter room. When I looked to him for a response, I found that his eyes were closed and his breathing had slowed to one who was asleep. “Love,” I repeated myself, unsure between being disappointed and relieved. Once again I uttered the word, perhaps to assure myself of its presence more than anything else, and as I did the word could barely be heard, even in such deafening silence. None of it really mattered, since it took me mere seconds to fall back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I am so, so, sorry I thought I fixed this chapter before? Anyway here is the actual chapter 4 and I hope this is with no more errors.

When I finally awoke to the presence of a decorated official in the room, his torch birthing light that was so new and draining to my tired eyes, I knew that our fate would be revealed. A few days had passed, and I estimated that we had spent about a week in this dungeon. Perhaps more frightening than the guard, was that Enjolras was no longer on the ground, but rather strapped in a chair that stood in the place he use to lay, both his jacket and his shirt removed. Despite this, Enjolras looked far stronger than he had been in days, even a light was kindled in his eyes.

Hope filled me at the sight of Enjolras’s spark. But fear mingled with this blessed feeling, conflicting my emotions to such a jumble. Because with hope, was the possibility of such a feeling being destroyed, a very real possibility in this case.

“Both of you have committed treason to the highest degree,” the official announced, pacing between the two of us. “Leaders of a failing revolution. There are those who believe you deserve death, simple, quick, and effortless. However, it has been decided that death is too painless for the suffering that you’ve created. You will be made an example, so those who follow with think twice before they take your fatal path. Death will come, but only once you’re begging for it.”

“You could do everything possible in your power, and still you won’t be able to break us,” Enjolras yelled defiantly, the familiar confidence filling his voice. If I didn’t know him better, the words would have filled me with such spirit, but the lie within his words were so plain to my ears. 

“Start with the blonde one,” The official whispered to a guard behind him. Who knew why he bothered keeping his voice down, everyone in the room could plainly hear him. 

“No,” I breathed weakly, hating myself for not being able to shout it at the top of my lungs. Hating myself for not being able to do anything to actually prevent it. And above all, hating the pained look that crossed Enjolras’s face--not brought on by the guard’s words, but by my own.

“Only when that one’s begging do you start with the other,” the official continued his his clipped voice, ignoring my single protest. With those final words, he left the room, the door clanging behind him with a deafening bang.

“We’re gonna start slowly--they want this to last,” the guard started, his voice unusually high for a man so large. He unhooked a small knife from his pocket, that had been shrouded in darkness before. The sound of his foot taking a tentative step forward, echoed amongst the must of the room.

Don’t hurt him. Hurt me... hurt me... I attempted to struggle against my bonds. I had to stop this.

“You really think this is right?” Enjolras challenged, his confidence almost overbearing. “Do you really believe that torture is the way to go in this situation? Do you really think this country is free?”

“This is my job, nothing more,” he responded, seemingly unaffected by the short speech. Without another word, the guard’s arm arched forward, blade in hand. The shining dagger perched on Enjolras’s shoulder, before biting into his flesh with such slow deliberance, as though he was simply a butcher attempting to get the best cut.   
And yet, as he did this, Enjolras barely reacted, just looked forward with such strength, barely wincing from the obvious pain. But he didn’t need to, I winced for him, I gasped out in pain at the sight of his agony. The wound was deep, and the blade completely disappeared into the folds of his skin, before it resurfaced, the glimmering surface splattered with red. 

Red, the blood of angry men. And suddenly I was back a week ago, on the field with all my friends, amongst all the death and blood. But the truth is, it was good they had managed to die then. Death was far better than what was facing Enjolras now. I suppose it was facing me too, but I hardly mattered. 

“A tough one, eh?” the guard questioned. And the way he spoke the words caused me to hate him, far more than if the guard had bothered being malicious or satisfied by it, because this human sounded bored, uncaring. The blade rose and sunk into a lower position on Enjolras’s arm, midway between his shoulder and elbow. As he did, I watched, frozen in the agony. Still, Enjolras didn’t respond with more than a twitching grimace in his lips that was barely visible. How much pain it must have been, I could only imagine.   
Why the hell was he keeping it all bundled up like this? Wouldn’t it feel better to make some noise? To unleash some of the agony? Another cut pierced Enjolras above his wrist.   
Still, he made no response. I couldn’t bear this anymore, couldn’t manage to see him suffering such a malady.

“Stop hurting him,” I begged, surprised that my words were spewing out so loudly. “Hurt me! cause me the pain! Leave him alone...”

“Grantaire, I’m fine,” Enjolras said forcefully, his jaw tight in the effort of managing the pain so willfully. “Pay no head. I’ll be fine.” And as he said this, I realized with a deafening agony scorching my mind, he was doing this for me. He was swallowing his responses for my sake. Only when that one’s begging do you start on the other one, had been what the official had said, and here Enjolras was, trying so desperately to protect me that he wouldn’t even whimper. No, he couldn’t do this, I wouldn’t let him. Didn’t he get it? Didn’t he understand that watching him in pain was far worse than anything they could do to me?

“No, it’s fine Enjolras,” I promised, straining against the bondages. “Hurt me. Leave him.”

“You’ll get your turn,” the guard shrugged, still so blatantly uncaring about the whole situation. “Be patient.” Taking a deep breath, this heartless bastard plunged his knife into the same forearm that had already been so abused, twisting the vile weapon while it was still stuck in Enjolras’s body. And it’s sickening, watching the tip of the blade visible on the other side of Enjolras’s arm. No, it’s far more than sickening, it’s such vile unbearable torment, twisting everything inside me to shreds. And Enjolras does gasp this time, his expression does flicker into a moment of agony. This makes everything worse, because the pain must now be so immense that not even Enjolras, with all his focus and bravery, can block all of it out. I just don’t want him to feel any of the pain. I wanted to claim all of that for myself, to suck all of his anguish away, to just give him peace. I wanted him to be alright. No, I needed him to be alright.

When the blade was lifted from Enjolras, a gush of blood followed, spilling over the surface of the chair’s armrest.

“Please,” I begged, panting as though the injury was one scorching my veins instead of his. “Please.”

The guard simply ignored me, while Enjolras kept staring straight ahead. For the slightest moment, his pupils flickered over to meet mines, and as they did, the hard brave core melted, and I could see such a level of hopeless and weakness trembling there. But then Enjolras stared ahead again, and masked that ball of emotions with the armor of sheer bravery that he usually managed. 

Once again the weapon dipped down and twisted, this time into the right shoulder, that had been otherwise unscathed. Once again Enjolras reacted at the smallest amount, actual sound accompanying his gasp this time. And again his skin was pierced, decorating his right arm with red. The injuries are taking their toll, and despite Enjolras’s defiant attempt at staying strong, the blood loss is causing him to weaken as a whole. His head fell forward, his chin rested on his chest. Pants escaped from Enjolras’s mouth, his body heaving with effort, and as he does so, a long groan escapes his lips.

“Enjolras, hang in there,” I begged, tears beginning to soak my face. I couldn’t... I wouldn’t let them harm him like this... But what could I do? Nothing. I was entirely, useless. “You can get through this. We’re going to be fine.” A silence followed my words. 

“Enjolras, answer me!” I screeched. “We’re going to be fine! You need to stay with me. . . Enjolras?”

“Grantaire,” he spoke my name in a gasp, his body heaving with such effort at the simple task. “. . . I’m . . .fine. . .”

He needed to stop pretending to be okay, he needed to be actually alright. The way he was still so insistent about this fact tore me apart, driving thousands of knives into my skull and twisting them. 

“Stop,” I begged, collapsed on the ground and so damn helpless. “You’re killing him... you’re killing him...”

“Yes, it seems as if he has lost his limit of blood,” the guard noted, stepping away and out of view, the small sound of metal objects clinking together reaching my ears.

“Enjolras, stay with me,” I sobbed, listening so desperately to the sound of Enjolras’s ragged breathing. 

At the edge of my vision, the guard reappeared, a large, whip with nine different ends clasped in his arms. 

“We’re going to get through this,” I promised, only allowing myself to focus on his breath that was filling the dungeon with such a desperate sound--No wait, there was another noise, incredibly faint, but still there. The sound was so alien and out of place, that the surprise on my face must have shown. But no... I wasn’t imagining it, there, even growing louder from it’s incredibly faint stage, was the sound of singing.

“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men....”

This had to be some sort of trick, something my mind had concocted to save us from this madness. But no, it continued to grow louder, the chanting that had once filled the streets of Paris with promise of such limitless freedom.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My greatest apologies for skipping last week's update and doing a late one this weekend, distracted by finals and the such.

“Enjolras?” I whispered, unsure if he had heard them as well.

There was no reply to this. I glanced over to find that he had passed out. For a fleeting millisecond of pure terror, I listened desperately for the sound of his breath. It was still there. Thank god...

The guard did manage to hear the singing, and quickly stepped away from Enjolras to run over and open the door, glancing down the torch lit passageway that greeted him there. “No one’s allowed down here--” The guard’s voice died in his throat, his body collapsing in the doorway. I watched him fall, so completely stunned.

“Hello?” I called out, hating how desperately I allowed the hope to enter my voice. “Help! We need help!”

The figure who entered the room was what my mind explained as a ghost. Marius. He was dead, he had to be--nobody survived the attack on our barricade... none of us made it but  
the two of us. And yet, here he stood before me, his hands reaching down to unfasten my bonds, his fingers very real and alive.

“Grantaire,” Marius breathed, his eyes stating clear confusion and relief as he lifted me from the ground. “You’re alive. You’re hurt... We need to get you out of here.” He stood my on my feet, putting his shoulder under mine to support the injured leg.

“No. . .” I breathed, lurching away from Marius and falling to the ground in effort to reach Enjolras. “I’m. . . fine. Enjolras needs the help. Get him. . . out of here.”

“Here!” Marius yelled down the hall, helping me back to my feet and forcing my out the door. “You fool. We’re not going to let either of you stay here.” As we continued onwards, three men passed us, bearing the same red, white, and blue badge I knew so well.

“He needs. . . medical attention,” I informed Marius breathlessly, doing my best to ignore the excruciating pain in my leg that was blinding me so completely. “He’s dying!”

“Grantaire, it’s going to be okay,” Marius promised, forcing my onwards with his confident voice. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

As we continued onwards through the maze of hallways, and out into the light, I could barely take in the mass of movement happening around me. There were the pounding gunshots and shouts and screams that had happened back at our beloved cafe, but these noises and actions seemed to be more focused, deliberate--not unlike the soldiers. I couldn’t take enough of it in to piece the picture together. . . Enjolras. Where was Enjolras? He needed to be here--he needed to be okay.

“Enjolras,” I whimpered, stuttering and falling to the ground. Marius and another man helped carry me behind the battlefield, and into a carriage. 

“Enjolras,” I repeated, my voice coming out rather panicked as I glancing around my surroundings. Was he dead? Did he not make it? Had the guards caught him?

“It’s alright, Grantaire,” Marius assured me, his voice dancing somewhere above me in the clouds of color and light. “He’s here, we’ve got him. You’re both going to be alright.” And as he spoke, I heard the heavy thud of a body landing next to me in the back of this very comfortable carriage. . . My hand reached forward, entangling myself in his fingers. I knew he wasn’t conscious, but feeling his touch in mine still helped. Even though I couldn’t move enough to see him, I could feel that they had quickly bound all of his injuries, successfully stopping the blood flow in the places that I could feel. The carriage started, swaying us back and forth, this way and thought. Only then, did I let go of consciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

Blinding lights greeted me in my waking hour. Even with my eyelids still closed, the light blazed, causing my already pained head to spin and ache. But the second thing that I sense was the plush comfort of a downy bed beneath me, blankets hugging me from all sides. Such agony blazed through my leg, every bone in my body aching to such a raw extent. And in an instant, the horrors of the last week flashed before me; the battle, the dungeon, and Enjolras. . .

My eyes flashed open, and I ignored how massive my head burned at the movement, I tried to sit up, and nearly fell back unconscious in the process. Enjolras. . . Where was Enjolras? He needed to be alright, nothing had ever been more essential. I needed to see him, to hold his hand, and remind him that everything was okay now.

The warm clench of a bondage completely encased my leg, so tightly that it was forced to stay completely still. And still I attempted to rise. “Enjolras,” I murmured, my voice almost as panicky as I felt. God, there had been so much blood. So much pain. Had he not made it? That was too close to a possibility. I needed so desperately to know.

“Enjolras!” I cried out, my voice breaking mid-word, so utterly frantic.

“He’s here,” an unfamiliar muffled voice assured me, a hand resting on my shoulder.

No, I needed Enjolras. I twisted my neck wildly about, ignoring how it caused my head to spin so viciously. There he was, to my left, I could barely see the pale outline of his head, but so unmistakably him. A large group of white outfitted bodies shifted along his body, blocking and unblocking the view to him. I had to get to him, had to assure him everything was okay. . . Was everything okay? Was he okay? I had to know, had to get to him.

Judging my distance as carefully as my frazzled mind allowed, I launched myself out of bed, barely rolling onto the floor with a painful crunch. My hands snagged against the floor, attempting to propel my across the floor and towards Enjolras.

There were shrieks following my actions, and several hands grabbing at my hands and legs, holding me back.

“Enjolras!” I yelled, attempting to fight these bounds, trying to escape the constant threads keeping me from his side. No, I needed to get him? Did no one understand? It was essential for Enjolras to be okay, and I had to be by his side.

“Grantaire,” this voice that urged me back into bed had the familiarity of Marius, even though I couldn’t concentrate on anything besides Enjolras’s face. “He’s going to be alright. Both of you need to rest.”

“But I need to--Enjolras,” I murmured weakly, helpless against all the hands lifting me back into bed. I flailed my arms about in such an effort to get to them, but as I did ropes clasped around my wrists, pinning me to my bed. More ropes, digging into the already scarred wrists.

“I’m sorry, friend,” Marius’s calm voices greeted me through the chaos of my hysteric mind. “This is for your own good.”

“Enjolras,” I whispered. So much pain... Enjolras shouldn’t have taken all the brunt of that, I hardly had a scratch compared to him. All I wanted, was to claim all of his pain for myself.

 


	7. Chapter 7

The next few days passed in a blur of dull, panicked waking hours, with fretful sleeping nightmares. They kept me tied down to the bed, afraid that I was going to hurt myself further. It was ridiculous really, I just wanted to be beside Enjolras. The two of us stayed in the hospital, sometimes accompanied by medical professionals, other times Marius, but mostly we were alone. A few times I tried to converse with those around me--never Enjolras, he was still struggling for life, unable to speak--mostly being too fatigued to do that much. There wasn’t much that the nurses were willing to say, just how my pathetic injury was managing. According to them it would heal fine. I also learned from them that Enjolras had suffered much worse. His leg had endured eight bullet wounds, and there was much doubt on whether he’d even be able to walk on it properly ever again. If that had been all, I would be worried enough. But that wasn’t even getting into the wounds from his torture. No one shared much details about that, apparently if he had lost any more blood they wouldn’t have a patient at all. The gashes were deep, and even though they didn’t bother telling me how much damage each of them had caused, I had been informed that one of his shoulders was in such a questionable situation he might not be able to use it again. They claimed he would make it though, so at least there was just that.

Marius’s visits were rare, and I learned why this was, when he visited the second time I was conscious for. He was sitting between our chairs, reading over a newspaper with intense concentration when I awoke. Once again, I could only glance his way with the infuriating ropes gripping me to the bed.

“Marius,” I greeted, my voice still despicably weak from this entire ordeal.

“Grantaire, you’re awake,” Marius replied, his words doing nothing more than stating the obvious truth. “I wondered if you would bother.” His voice was already beginning to grate on my nerves.

“What happened?” I asked, managing to turn my head so I could look him in the face. “After Enjolras and I got... How did you survive?”

“Luck,” Marius sighed, his very words haunted with an usual gaunt look he had taken, that lurked behind his eyes. They were so unusual in the school boy I had always seen as rather light headed, naive. It was the look of a man who had seen death firsthand, amongst those he cared about deeply. “And well, Cosette’s father. He had joined us a few hours before the final battle, remember? He carried me away, saved me. Of course, I thought everyone was dead at first. But then I heard wind of what happened to you two. . . the effect that information had was incredible. Even my Grandfather was struck dumb by the injustice, even helped me spread the word about. Such a thing spired such action as I have never seen before. The people rose--as we needed them to do in the first place--and attacked the building they were keeping you in. That’s how we managed to pull you two out of there. It’s still going on, as we speak, the revolution. We’re very lucky no one’s caught wind of where we brought you yet. I’d hate to think how either of you would manage being moved again.”

For a moment, I sat there in silence, trying to digest the whole situation. So the revolt worked? Without Enjolras? Without the ABC? The people had risen? And I felt my voice exit my mouth, not really processing that I was trying to say at all. “The people managed to rise?”

“Yes,” Marius assured me, a smile on his face.

“How come they couldn’t manage it before they broke Enjolras?” I whispered, hating myself for not being excited and glad that the people had risen. Really, all I felt was empty. Enjolras wasn’t alright, he might not even be able to survive. To me, a world free wasn’t worth such a thing.

Marius didn’t have a response for that question, but instead his eyes lowered with a fraction of the inner agony that was scorching my insides. Yes, he was scared by the battle, yes he watched everyone die alongside us. . . But he didn’t love Enjolras. He loved Cosette, who he didn’t think would die, didn’t stand along side at what should have been there grave, didn’t see her get tortured to unconsciousness. . .

“Marius?” an unfamiliar voice called from another room.

“Coming!” Marius responded, rising from his chair. “I’m sorry, Grantaire, I should go. Things will be alright.”

I didn’t want to respond to this. He wouldn’t understand--couldn’t. So instead I just lay there in silence.

“Farewell,” he murmured awkwardly, before departing from the room.

For a few hours I just lay there, unwilling to close my eyes and return to nightmares, just stewing in the worry that poisoned my mind. As they always did, my eyes fell onto Enjolras’s sleeping form, his gentle golden curls just visible from where I lay. As I watched, his stomach was visible, rising and falling in an even pattern that had to keep going, had to continue existing. Enjolras had to survive. I couldn’t even allow myself to imagine a world without him, that was a world I couldn’t even tolerate considering.

Finally when I was just allowing myself to close my eyes, I heard the slightest gasp of a voice.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras breathed, his voice hoarse and laboring to even say the single word.

“Enjolras,” I responded, an involuntary tear spriting from the edge of my vision. He was surviving, he was strong enough to be awake. . . The relief that clawed through my body, causing an actual tremor to rattle through my figure. “It’s alright, you’re safe now, I’m here.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated, so faint and feverish. “Did they. . . get to you?”

For a moment I had to pause, taking a deep breath to keep from sobbing. That’s what he was asking about? Not where he was? Not how we escaped? He really just wanted to know if they had managed to start torturing me? “No they didn’t. I’m fine. We escaped--Marius rescued us. We’re going to be fine.” As I said the words, I couldn’t help but recall all the times we had spoken those words in such lies, hollowly comforting each other.

Enjolras took a minute to respond, weakly craning his neck so that he was looking at me, into my eyes. His blue pupils emanated pain, his lids barely open. And yet, he continued to stare at me, forcing himself upon consciousness.

“We made it,” he managed to croak. He groaned slightly from his pain, and I wanted to reach out and help him, to take the pain away.

“Yeah, we survived,” I murmured, a faint smile creeping across my face. And as I did I was aware of how much effort it took to access those muscles after they had perched in disuse for so long.

“Grantaire,” he repeated, his every syllable forced out with all the effort he could manage. “What you said before. . .” He paused, panting slightly with his pain. What had I said before? There wasn’t much I had managed to say to him during the torture, nor after--at least not when he was awake. “. . . I love you too.”

I sat there stunned, my mouth falling open, as if to dispel some of the confusion that was tumbling around my mind and stomach. I was speechless, utterly and hopelessly speechless. All the thoughts flickered around in my mind like fireflies, lighting up only enough to barely catch sight of them flit about. He was asleep! His eyes was closed, his breathing relaxed... Enjolras couldn’t have heard! But he did, he so obviously heard the one word so taut with emotion. . . and he loves you back. Enjolras loves me. Enjolras loves me. Enjolras loves me.

“Enjolras,” I whispered, my eyes set on his tired irises, barely visible from where they were fractionally open. He knew, that entire time through the torture he knew. Enjolras attempted a smile, which just ended up with his mouth agape, the tips of his mouth open. There weren’t any more words needed, which was good, because I could doubt he could say much more in the state he was in. So for a long moment, we just lay there, staring into each other’s eyes, before his slowly closed so he could drift back into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

The next day they finally untied my arms, giving me a staff and permission to wander the ward at my leasure. My leg was so incredibly stiff and painful that walking felt like the injuries were breaking down all over again, even with the support of the stick. In all honesty, even if walking around felt perfectly fine, I wouldn’t have traveled farther.

All I was content to do was sit by Enjolras’s side. It didn’t matter that he was so constantly unconscious, or the fact that he didn’t say much when he was awake, it was just so nice to be so close to him. I sat on a chair at his side, holding his hand in mine. Now and, then when he did open his eyes, he was positively reeling with agony. Sometimes he was conscious enough to pretend that he wasn’t in such constant pain, but other times he sat there screaming out in such sheer torment. All I could do was sit there, and be there for him, whispering that it would someday pass and that he would be okay, the worst was over now.

As days stretched by, I would only part his side to sleep--when the nurses forced me to, according to them it wasn’t good for my healing to sleep in a chair. Thankfully I found that as time passed we both got slightly better. There were days where he spent hours awake, sometimes even bothering to sit up. When this happened we would sometimes talk, not much, and what he did say was very delirious, but it was still his voice, his words pouring into the empty space.

Weeks must have passed, I started to walk around normally, and he started to regain his consciousness and sanity. Even both of his arms made it, both incredibly weak, but workable. According to the nurses, his leg was not so fortunate, and when he was allowed to leave his bed, it would have to be without the full use of one of his leg.

As soon as Enjolras started to talk normally, he began asking about the rest of the rebellion, how the other ABC members had fared on the battlefield.

“What happened?” he had asked, sitting up. During this time he had sat up completely on his own, and insisted that I sit in the space that his head usually occupied, so the two of us could lean up against each other. This was one of the things he had done that was so different from before, telling that he remembered the new love between us, even if neither of us mentioned such a thing yet. “I remember the battle of course, I remember leading everyone to their death--”

“That’s not fair to yourself,” I breathed, my head behind him in such a way that my every word tickled at his ear. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was,” he insisted, his voice so unbearably full of self-loathing. It didn’t belong there, not in the confidence that had always seen a new tomorrow. “I lead them into such destruction. I deserve to die along side them.”

“You did more than your part of suffering,” I assured him in a murmur, grasping his fingers in my own. “What you had to endure was more pain than any of them had to endure. You were taking the bite of the rebellion as they died before the real suffering began. You took on all that torture with hardly a squeak.”

“I couldn’t let myself,” Enjolras simply responded, both of us aware of the addition to his words: If I had let myself cry out in the pain I had felt, they would have started on you. I couldn’t let them touch you. “And yes, of course, I remember the dungeon and all that happened inside it. Unless there were actions that I missed after passing out?” He suddenly tensed with that realization that he could have missed any harm that happened to me.

“You remember it all,” I assured him, nodding and inhaling his scent of warmth and gunpowder. “Besides the rescue.”

“Yes, how did that occur?” Enjolras questioned quietly.

“Marius survived,” I explained. “And he heard of our ordeal. He managed to spread the word so widely and cause the anger of the people to rise so immensely, that they actually did fight back, and rescue us. Your revolution spread, Enjolras, and it fights on as we speak.”

“Really?” Enjolras asked, his tone suddenly tinged with such desperate hope.

“Yes, really,” I nodded, finding my own happiness rise slightly with his merit. How I missed such hope that use to surge through his voice. “The people fight on for freedom. Marius hasn’t cared to explain how well they’re doing, just that that is how we escaped.”

But sometimes our conversations weren’t so happy, in fact they weren’t much of conversations at all. When he slept, or was in that blurry state between being awake and asleep, he cried out their names, screamed them into the air, calling out orders. And I knew that he was back behind the barricade, watching all of our friends die. As he did I could see the scene before my own eyes, and I cried my own personal tears as we both fought to cope with the horrors that we had seen that fateful day. Whenever he did cry out in such a way, I tried to wake him quickly as possible.

“Enjolras, it’s okay!” I would yell into his ear, shaking him from the nightmares. “That’s long since over, I promise. Everything’s going to be alright, Angel, everything’s going to be alright. . .” And eventually he would wake. I’d sit at his head, stroking his hair and the beads of his sweat from his forehead, and pretending that it wasn’t so utterly terrifying to see him so destroyed. But in such a poisonous way, it was good to see him so frail, so needy, because I knew that he was in such a state, despite how he pretended to be so strong and put together, and when he was showing it I could comfort him further, help him more.

Once Enjolras had calmed down enough, the two of us would talk about the future, our future. So many of the plans contradicted each other or made no sense at all, that I doubt either of us took them all seriously. In a way, it was just to take our minds off of the present and out of the past, casting our gaze to the future instead. We had decided that once we were all better, the two of us would get an apartment in Paris together--quite a stone’s throw from our old places. Neither of us were willing to leave the romantically poor city, and yet neither of us were willing to life inside the nightmare that daunted our every shadowed thought. After moving in, we had decided, we would join into the cause of rebellion if they would take such weak soldiers that the two us made. Afterwards we would finish school, perhaps see what the new France had to offer, together. That was the one repetitive thing that clung to our every conversation, we would stick together, just the two of us, fighting our battles of the world hand in hand.

Despite the way I had talked about Enjolras’s nightmares, both awake and dreaming, the intense concentration I had on his problems didn’t dispel the fact that I wasn’t okay either. My leg was still severely wounded, causing burning agony and a limp at every step and movement. But even worse than my physical injuries, was my mind. Everytime I closed my eyes I would see my friend’s bodies strewn about in such red. Even more often I would helplessly watch Enjolras’s torture, his pain biting away at him, destroying both him and me in one blow. After a while of this, Enjolras had taken to waking me up. He limped over to my side, and had reached down, caressing my head in his arms.

“Enjolras. . . “ I whispered, my breath rattling more completely than a carriage drawn across a muddy road. “You’re safe, you’re alright. . .”

He was far from alright, we both were, but upon my words he immediately recognized the horrors my brain had been feeding me, and nodded in response. “Yes Grantaire, we’re both fine. None of that’s ever going to happen again, I promise.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies for missing last week, I suppose I'm just having issues remembering because of the summer laze. Short chapter this week but I promise next week's is much longer.

The nurse that came into our room after about a month was so hurried that she was stumbling over her own feet as she attempted to speak. "Monsieurs, you must leave. The soldiers have found you're here. They are coming."

Quickly, I limped over to Enjolras's bed, and put my good side under his injured shoulder, attempting to hold him up. Both of us still struggling to function properly, we managed to coordinate, one foot after the other, walking across the room and towards the door that the nurse gestured towards.

"Grantaire, this isn't working," Enjolras muttered under his breath as we continued to stride forward. "We both need help, as I'm sure you know as well. Time is of the essence and we can't go on like this."

"No one else is here to aid us both," I reminded him. "You have to trust me, we can make it." So many flashes of his denial to let me help spun before my eyes, poisoning my brain. After all this, did he still not trust to do tasks I was clearly doing without fail? Did he still consider me useless luggage?

Enjolras paused for a moment, meeting my eyes, before nodding. We continued onwards, forcing ourselves to go faster, even as our legs begged us to yield under the pain. The nurse lead us down a hallways, and out into the darkened sky of night. The pitch black of the outside caused the two of us to fumble slightly more, nearly tripping and falling on our faces.

"Come now with haste," Marius whispered, coming out from the shadows, but still barely visible. "This carriage should take you both out to a friend of mine's. Just stay silent until you leave the borders. I will send word when you can return."

"Thank you Marius," Enjolras nodded weakly, and I duly noted that this had been their first contact since after the battle. "Good luck." It was interesting really, to see how to Enjolras-despite Marius rescuing us and that Marius was basically leading the revolution right now-Marius was still the simple soldier, the other figure head.

Marius nodded, smiling sadly at his old friend. He reached forward and helped Enjolras into the back of the carriage, before assisting me in as well. The musty stench of hay greeted me on the inside, and even though the darkness hid the carriage's cargo from view, I could still feel the prickly spines of hay that completely encased us, hiding us from view of the rest of the world. That was probably the point, really, to disguise our presence.

"Enjolras?" I murmured, glancing around the thick black in attempt to find him.

"Here," he responded in a whisper, his voice coming from a foot away. Carefully, I walked past him, and took a seat in the hay at his side. It wasn't any hospital bed, but still comfortable enough. My hand purposefully tangled in Enjolras's fingers. We were together and potentially safe, that's what mattered.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was my utmost pleasure to write and I hope you all enjoyed it just as much! Hopefully I'll be putting up new exr stuff soon, but for now enjoy!

“Halt,” The muffled sound of voices called from outside the carriage. “Messieur, we must check your cargo.”

“It’s just hay,” our driver murmured, his voice barely audible.

“Mandatory, messieur. I’m afraid there are fugitives on the loose. I’m sure you understand,” the first voice continued, the sound growing slightly louder. That’s when I realized, I knew that voice; it was the same one I associated with a dark dungeon and torture; it was the official who had ordered Enjolras’s agony. As these thoughts hit me, I felt Enjolras began to actually shake beside me, continuously tremble. His breathing was getting so loud, I thought for sure that they would hear us.

I squeezed his hand so tightly it must have hurt, digging my fingers into his skin in attempt to bring him back out of the memories. No, damn it, it wasn’t working; if anything, he was getting slightly louder. A sudden thought struck me as they opened up the back, and I dove forward, pressing my lips to Enjolras’s in a very sloppy kiss. Sure enough, as our mouths held onto each other’s so desperately, he stopped breathing entirely.

There was a slight sound of shuffling, before the back of the carriage was closed once again. After a fleeting moment of bliss, I pulled away, smiling faintly at the stunned Enjolras that lay beneath my gaze.

“You’re all set,” that same haunting voice announced, before the carriage started back up again.

We rode in the carriage for days. Enjolras and I sat there, hands intertwined in each other’s, pain and nightmares haunting our every thought. But we were together, so there was some spark to our continuance.

When we finally arrived at our destination, our carriage driver, who was apparently just an old farmer who believed in the revolution, let us out through the back. Our eyes, so used to the dim light of the carriage, strained against the light of midday. Before us, a modest farmhouse lived between two neatly laid fields of corn. Coming from the front door was an older lad in a brown coat, a revolution flower pinned to his front.

“Hello,” he waved to us, coming to stand beside us, with a hand outstretched. “You two must be Marius’s friends.”

“Yes,” Enjolras replied. He was stumbling on by keeping one arm wound around my shoulder, my closer arm beneath his shoulder, supporting him for the most part. Enjolras took the hand with his less injured hand. “Thank you so much.”

“Thank you,” he simply nodded in return. “It is quite an honor to meet you Enjolras. Your ___ has lead France to a new age. You and your friend, Grantaire.”

I looked up at the mention of my name. It wasn’t worthy of getting any sort of title. I had simply been beside Enjolras, suffered his pain. But I suppose, it may have looked, from both the officer’s point of view and the outsider’s, that I had just much of a part in the revolution as Enjolras did. I didn’t deserve to have such praise. It was all Enjolras, he deserved all of the glory after so much suffering. And I realized, with a plummeting stomach, that the other names of my friend in l’ABC would diminish into the countless that were now giving their lives for freedom.  Courfeyrac, Gavroche, Joly, Combeferre, Jehan, Feuilly, Bossuet, Bahorel. . . they would just end as the barricade boys, who had given their lives behind the barricade for a new world of red.

“Not quite yet, my friend,” Enjolras murmured, and I found myself gripping him harder as he we stumbled onward. He was still so faint. “Hopefully that’s what it will lead to.”

“I am Jean,” the man nodded, before gesturing to our doorway. “Must have been a long travel to get you here. You should rest, I have food and beds set for you both. We don’t get much news on the actions, out so far from Paris, but the fight goes on, and I suppose that should be a good enough sign, aye?”

“Some may take it that way,” Enjolras murmured, the two of us coordinating so that we could follow him into his home. “While others see it as more blood spill.”

“It’s not your fault,” I whispered into his ear, helping him through the door.

He said nothing, but from the hard look on his face I could tell that his opinion on the matter wasn’t altered.

“Thank you for allowing us to stay here,” I murmured, helping Enjolras into a seat by the table before I took a chair beside him. The room was modest, a small center table taking up most of the entrance room, the surface decked out with the feast for a king. “And for the food.”

“Of course, of course, it’s my honor,” Jean said. “Eat all that you need. Revive, rest. You are welcome in this house for as ever long as you need.”

“Thank you for everything,” Enjolras repeated, nodded at the kind man before we dived in. The rich food fed my stomach far more than anything I had eaten in the last few months. And the wine, oh the wine. I had lived for so long without the rash grasp of liquor to quench my thirst and thoughts. The tart tanginess scorched my throat. At first I took it slowly, causing the delicious rush to satisfy the longing I had had for days on end. But after about five sips, I took a large swig. It was only then, as I finished my first glass, that I noticed Enjolras eyeing the liquid in distaste, and couldn’t help but slowly smile at his reaction.

“What really happened to you two?” Jean asked, filling his own plate with food. “There’s been so many rumors circulating I can’t tell what’s true.”

Worried I glance towards Enjolras, who slowly put his fork down. Not even on our own had the two of us discussed what happened. There had been mentions, murmurs, but nothing more. And I could see his jaw line physically tighten at the prospect. How I wanted to take the pain from all those moments away, suffer in his place.

“Obviously some of the things floating around have been true, as I can see from the state of you both. Not trying to offend, of course.”

“At the end of the battle, they captured us both,” Enjolras started, his voice lower than normal, his words pouring out slower. I glanced his way, before moving my hand so our fingers locked together. Enjolras nodded, more to himself than anything else. That’s when I noticed he was shaking, barely, only visible since I was inches from his face. “Decided that we didn’t deserve death yet, but should be made example of instead. We spent countless hours locked away in a dungeon being tortured.” Enjolras turned back to his food, and duly took his fork and twisted it into some noodles, lifting it halfway to his mouth. But then he stopped, unable to actually put the food into his mouth.

Jean stared, waiting for more information. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t get more facts from either of us. Neither of us were willing to relive enough of it to give any sort of details. I was even less willing because it meant it would be making Enjolras live through it as well.

“Thank you, this has been quite delicious,” I interrupted the awkward pause, and Enjolras finished his bite. It felt awkward to be thanking anyone for anything, it had never been something I had done very much before, I suppose I hadn’t had any reason to be thankful for anything. But now, since life was even lower, more stuck out and seemed to need thanking.

“You both must be so exhausted,” Jean fumbled to stand, wiping his own mouth with a white napkin. “I’ve set a room up for you two. Unfortunately I only had one spare bed. It’s full sized, but if you don’t want to share I can set one of you up on the floor.”

A pause followed his words, and it took me a moment to realize he expected a response to this news.

“Yes, we are,” I nodded, taking another sip of wine. “The bed situation should be fine.”

“If you’re sure,” Jean nodded, rising and crossing the room to gesture towards a door. “Here you both are, in there. Let me know if you’ll be needing anything.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras nodded tightly, finally seeming to come back from his transportation into memories.

“Ready?” I whispered, it had been a few minutes since he had eaten anything, and I knew he wouldn’t be able go to the bedroom without my hand to steady his lame leg.

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” Enjolras nodded, sighing deeply. “I can tear you from your beloved alcohol.”

“Only you, Angel,” I smiled playfully. I rose from my chair, and helped him onto his own two feet.

“Wait, hang on,” Enjolas muttered, eyeing me suspiciously. “You know I mean going to bed, like to sleep.”

“Yes of course,” I replied, baffled at his response. “What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing--I just was being. . . tired,” Enjolras shook his head, clearing it from whatever he had been imagining.

A slow smile crept across my face as my mind explored the possibilities of what he might have been thinking I meant. “Don’t worry, Angel, I’d be too scared of harming you further in your current state if we did anything else in bed.”

Enjolras just swallowed at this prospect, blinking several times with a very uncomfortable frown on his face. The inexperienced lamb.

I helped him into our room, stealing a glance at Jean. Needless to say he looked very confused and rather embarrassed as well.

“Goodnight Jean,” I called behind us, before shutting the door. The room inside was snug, and I wasn’t quite sure how he was planning on adding bedding on the floor. A double bed was pushed up against the far side of the room, which made it only a few feet away from the floor. The ceiling swept so low that both Enjolras and I had to duck our heads slightly, the smell of pinewood lingering. I helped Enjolras onto the soft feather bed before climbing over him to the far side. No need for him to hurt himself in such strain.

“An actual bed,” Enjolras breathed, pulling the wool blankets at the bottom of the bed over the two of us. He stretched out like a cat, his legs splaying at our feet, managing to take up most of the bed. His arm curled around my shoulder, drawing me into his chest. Really, it was rather uncomfortable. But I didn’t mind. Hell, I was glad he was doing so, glad that I was in his iron embrace, cozied up to Enjolras. I curled into a ball next to him, breathing in his scent.

“Yeah, an actual bed,” I murmured, the words so quiet they didn’t seem to really exit my mouth. “G’night, Angel.”

“Goodnight, Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered back, ducking his head so that it was nuzzling the top of my head, buried in my locks of hair. “Sleep well.”

“I love you,” I responded, listing to his steady breathing beside me. It was so nice, relaxing, when I could just hear it in silence and not worry about it suddenly disappearing.

“I love you, too,” he breathed, before closing his eyes. Almost instantly, snores began to start from his mouth. I remembered, the first time I had heard him snore, in the hospital ward, I had been so confused. Enjolras just didn’t strike me as someone who snored. But now as I closed my eyes beside him, I found the sound comforting. Perhaps I wouldn’t even be able to fall asleep without that steady noise beside me.

I had always been one to take some time to fall asleep, and with the slight discomfort of Enjolras’s arm curled below my neck, things were no different. But I didn’t mind, really--I enjoyed falling asleep beside Enjolras. All I needed in this world was him.

* * *

A few weeks passed at the small farm house. Jean insisted we just rest and heal, which we did, ever so slowly. Every night, Enjolras and I would sleep side by side, before he awoke so early that the sun hadn’t even rose into the sky. He obviously wouldn’t try to wake me up, but with his shifting movements he always would eventually, until one morning he went ahead and woke me up with a kiss on my cheek instead, reasoning that maybe I would wake up in a better mood this way. After waking up, Enjolras would always make me take a walk out in the fields, reasoning that the movement would help my leg get better. To my surprise, this did help, I found with every day it was a little stronger and I could walk a little further. It got to the point where I could use my leg normally, not even the hint of a limp in the movements. After a few weeks, Enjolras was fitted with a large wooden cane, and he took to joining me on these tedious walks, that suddenly were quite pleasant. In all honesty, we didn’t do much that wasn’t more interesting than sleeping, but that’s what we needed then, time to relax and simply get better. Even Enjolras’s mind seemed refreshed by the country air and the relaxation; he may not have seemed like he blamed himself less for any of this, but at the same time his steps grew lighter, as his thoughts clearer from the agony of our time in the dungeon. There wasn’t any news from Paris or anything about the revolution, which caused him such obvious anxiety, sometimes staring off into nothing before he went on with one of his rants or speeches--I could hardly tell the difference sometimes--about France and freedom.

Several months after we had arrived here, a young lad road up to our doorsteps, panting heavily and holding a large envelope addressed to Enjolras. As he entered, handing the letter off to Jean, Enjolras and I had been hiding in our room, in case our visitor had been officers.

“Any news on the front line?” We could hear the muffled voice of Jean question.

“It’s over, Monsieur,” the stranger panted in response, his voice full of glee. “We won. France is free.”

Enjolras and I were sitting so closely on the bed that I could hear the gentle thump of his heart, and as the visitor spoke, I could hear the rhythm accelerate. We waited until the stranger left, until Enjolras and I scampered out into the room.

“It’s done, we won?” Enjolras breathed, and the look on his face was so much freer than I had seen it since the torture, with such a large smile, his eyes blazing with such confidence and hope.

“We won,” Jean responded, tears glistening in his eyes.

“We won,” Enjolras repeated, his voice choking out in an incredulous laugh. He turned to me and wrapped his arm around me, almost lifting me off my feet in his excitement. He was practically jumping up and down in his excitement. “We did it! France is free!”

“We did it. . .” I whispered, burying my face in his shoulder as tears began to form in my eyes as well. The intense emotion and liquid wasn’t because France was free, but it was instead for all the lives that died believing in this cause, whose dreams were now fulfilled. The tears were because Enjolras had made it through this alive. But he probably already knew that.

“Your letter, Enjolras,” Jean handed the thick envelope to him.

Enjolras took it and carefully unfolded the parchment, his eyes flickering over the small looped letters I identified as Marius’s handwriting. “They’re trying to form a new, just government and Marius has called upon me to help. I must journey there immediately, if I am to have any hope of coming at the day they start. Grantaire, I’d understand of course if you wanted to stay but--”

“Angel, I’d like to see you try and stop me from coming,” I rolled my eyes at this prospect, continuing to smile from the giddiness of seeing him so flustered with light. “It’s time for the two of us to return to Paris.”


End file.
